


A Truckload of Flowers

by AnnieVH



Series: Behind Closed Doors [22]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Rumbelle - Freeform, Rumbelle AU - Freeform, Woobie Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:33:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3157898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieVH/pseuds/AnnieVH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle has so many flowers she doesn’t know what to do with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part of series BEHIND CLOSED DOORS and a fill to this prompt (http://rumbelleprompts.tumblr.com/post/90082568530/rumple-milah-neal-belle-tw-domestic)
> 
> I'm still taking prompts for this verse if anybody wants to send them.
> 
> I'm also doing a ASK MY CHARACTERS (http://annievh.tumblr.com/post/106018882167/ask-my-characters-a-question-and-they-shall).
> 
> A companion piece for this picspam (http://annievh.tumblr.com/post/102166515522/behind-closed-doors-warnings-domestic-abuse).
> 
> Pairings for this verse: eventual Rumbelle and Swanfire.  
> Warnings for this verse: abusive relationship, implied non-con situations, child-abuse, violence, infidelity, very anti-Milah.
> 
> A HUGE THANKS to Maddie for betaing it so fast!

“You will be responsible for organizing the catalog yourself, of course,” said Mayor Mills, walking around the library for no particular reason other than to see if Belle would follow her obediently. “We cannot afford an intern at the moment, nor for the foreseeable future.”

“I understand, Madam Mayor.”

“As you can see, this is a mess, and I expect it to be put to order before you even  _think_  of reopening it to the public.”

“Yes, of course, Madam Mayor.”

“And before you think of making any acquisitions, do note that your little library, just like everything in this administration, has a budget that should be  _observed_  and  _respected_.”

Belle clacked her heels rapidly behind her, watching her make grand gestures and explain things she was already familiar with. She had thought her job interview would be a lot more about what she could do for the library and what her qualifications were. As it turned out, Regina Mills was more interested in seeing if she could follow orders and do as she was told without questioning, which seemed to be the basis for her whole administration.

“The cleaning, of course, is also on your shoulders.” She gave Belle a look from head to toe. “But I think that’s up your alley, isn’t it?”

Belle bit her tongue. The Mayor was deliberately comparing her to a maid, leaving no doubt how she felt about her. Not that there had been much doubt before. Regina Mills was the kind of person who’d look at you like an employee from the very first meeting, regardless of having gone to the same school as you, or played in the same playground. Calling her Madam Mayor instead of Regina felt so natural it was almost scary.

“I always did the heavy lifting when I was a volunteer, Madam Mayor,” Belle said, straining to sound polite and non-threatening. “I’m sure I can handle it.”

“Good, because you’ll have to. Unless you want to pay someone out of your own pocket, which is an acceptable option. The catalog is still not digital, so you better-”

A very loud vibration interrupted her and Belle reached for her phone, mortified. Judging by the look on Mayor Mills’ face, she might as well have thrown the thing at her and she wouldn’t be feeling as affronted.

“I am so sorry, Madam Mayor,” Belle pleaded, reaching for the phone in her purse and checking the caller ID before turning it off. “I am so sorry. Please, you were saying?”

At first, the Mayor didn’t continue and Belle feared she had given her the excuse she needed to reject her application and go on redirecting the library funds to things she deemed worthy of her time.

Finally, she said, “You do realize you were not my first choice for this position.”

 _You had no other choice for this position_.

Out loud, Belle said, “I do, Madam Mayor, and I appreciate the opportunity-”

“You left the library before without so much as a notice.”

“Yes, it was a, uhn,” Belle thought back on the day she had announced to Mrs. Hare she wouldn’t be coming back on Monday. The old woman had reacted with complete indifference. “It was an impulsive decision. I was offered a scholarship-”

“Therefor, I’m not sure I can trust you not to do the same if a better opportunity comes along.”

Belle couldn’t guarantee otherwise either, so she remained quiet.

“Nor that you won’t marry Mr. Sage the next month and follow him to Washington to have children-”

“That much I can promise I won’t,” Belle said, rolling her eyes and cursing Gaston not for the first time that day. He had finally flown back to Washington, but not before giving the whole town the wrong impression that he and Belle had gotten back together. Some people even said they were now engaged. Gaston had promised to come back for Valentine’s Day, as if that were supposed to mean something to her. “In fact,” Belle continued, “do we have laws regarding stalking in this town? Because I think I might need them.”

To her surprise, Mayor Mills smiled. “You better check the legal section, wherever the hell that currently is.”

Belle wanted to laugh, but thought the Mayor might not welcome it very well, so she settled for a coy smile.

The Mayor looked around, covering for her discomposure, pretending to think of anything else to say. When she turned back to Belle, her face was stone again. “I’m doing this as a favor to an old friend.”

 _So am I_.

“I understand, Madam Mayor,” Belle said.

“He vouches for you, and nothing would give me more pleasure than to prove him wrong.”

The Mayor was betting on her failure. How encouraging.

“Which is not to say I don’t expect you to give your very best to this library.”

“I will, Madam Mayor.”

She examined Belle’s face again, probably thinking of any other questions or orders she could throw at her. But she settled for, “Do you have any questions, Ms. French?”

“No, Madam Mayor.”

“Good.”

Regina Mills turned to leave and, almost as an afterthought, she added, “I expect this to be running by the end of the month.”

 _Of course she does_.

“I’ll do my-”

The Mayor’s head snapped in her direction.

Her  _best_  wouldn’t do.

Belle corrected herself. “Would March 1st be acceptable?”

“And not a day later.”

With that, Regina Mills was gone, leaving Belle to stare at the books, fighting self-doubt from taking over her mind.

“Right,” she told herself, looking around and trying to come up with a plan. “Two weeks. I’ve got two weeks to make this work.”

Belle turned her cellphone back on. She had to return Jaq’s call. After seeing what he wanted, maybe she could ask if he and Gus would be willing to help with yet another task.

“Hey, Jaq, sorry, I was- _Whoa_!” she said, when the young man started ranting on the other side of the line. “Whoa, whoa! Slow down, I can barely understand what you’re saying.”

Jaq shouted, “ _C’est ridicule, Mademoiselle_!”

“Yes, yes, yes, but I need you to calm down. What’s ridiculous?”

After going back and forth for a few minutes, Belle gave up trying to figure out his  _frenglish_  and told him to go back to his mother language. Her French was fairly unpracticed, and his Montreal accent didn’t help, but, once he allowed himself to breath and spoke more calmly, things started making sense.

In her own version of French, which was far from perfect but that seemed to make sense for his ears, she told him to wait for her and not sign anything until she got to the shop.


	2. Chapter 2

“Oh, thank god,” Jaq sighed, rushing to Belle’s side when she entered the shop. “ _Mademoiselle_  Belle, thank you for coming so fast.”

“It’s fine, Jaq. And don’t call me that.”

“I didn’t want to bother you  _Mademoiselle_  French,” the boy continued, completely misunderstanding her order. “We just came to clean everything, like we told you we would. Then you could give  _Monsieur_  Gold the keys. But this  _Monsieur_  is just  _impossible_  to deal with!”

“Belle, Jaq,” she tried again. She wasn’t like Regina Mills. A man seven years younger than her calling her “Miss” didn’t make her feel any more powerful. It just made her feel old. “Just call me Belle.”

“ _Oui_ ,  _Mademoiselle_  Belle.”

“No, I meant- Where is he anyway?”

 

To answer her question, another man, dressed in a uniform, stepped away from the counter and shoved a clipboard in her face. “You can sign here, ma’am.”

“I’m sorry?” Belle said, taking a step back.

“Is this your shop?” he asked.

“It was my father’s.”

He didn’t waste time with condolences. “But now it’s yours?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Sign here, please.”

She looked at the form he was handing her and then at his less than friendly face. “What is this?”

“It’s in the form.”

“You see what I mean,  _Mademoiselle_?” Jaq said. “He’s  _impossible_!”

“Easy, Jaq. What is this?”

“It’s for your  _Papa_ ,  _Mademoiselle_ ,” Jaq explained.

Gus, who had been observing them from behind the counter, said, “It’s just some flowers, Miss Belle.”

“U-hun,” Belle said, absent minded, looking at the form but not really paying attention. “Fine. How many did he order?”

“Five hundred flowers,” said the delivery man, as if that number meant nothing to him.

Belle stared at him and waited for everybody to start laughing, signaling that the joke was over. Nobody did.

“Five  _hundred_  flowers?” she repeated. “What am I going to do with five _hundred_  flowers?”

“That is your business, ma’am.”

“It’s for Valentine’s Day, Miss Belle,” Gus explained.

“But this  _is_  ridiculous!” Belle shouted (Jaq looked at the delivery man and said, “ _You see_?!”). “The store is closed!”

“The flowers were ordered two months ago, ma’am,” said the delivery man, inflexible. “They’re paid for. Just sign here.” His finger tapped the dotted line.

“We’re closed, sir. We don’t need any more flowers. Specially five hundred.”

“I just need you to sign here, ma’am.”

“Sir, you don’t understand. We don’t sell flowers anymore. I can’t take them.”

“You can if you sign here.”

“Will you stop saying that? I am not taking these flowers!”

“On the dotted line, ma’am.”

“The store is  _closed_!”

“They’re already payed for, ma’am.”

“Then bring them back and sell them to someone else!”

“Can’t do that, ma’am. Terribly unethical. Sign here, please.”

“We just got this store cleared of all the flowers! I have to return the key to the landlord!”

“On the dotted line, ma’am.”

Belle wasted the next five minutes repeating the same words, and hearing the same answers. Calling the man’s supervisor made no difference, since his tactic to dealing with her was, first, offering empty condolences, second, telling her the problem was not his and she should just take the flowers and do whatever she wanted with them.

Finally, she huffed and signed her name on the dotted line.

“Thank you, ma’am. The boys can unload the van now.”

Gus glared at the stranger and Jaq called him “arrogant American bastard” in his incomprehensible version of French. But both did as they were told.

Belle joined them for the unloading and in half an hour the shop that had been finally emptied the night before was now once again packed with flowers. Tears stung Belle’s eyes. She had been so relieved to walk in that day without the smell of plants to trigger her memories. Now she was once again surrounded by bouquets. Sunflowers, tulips, daisies, and an absurd amount of roses. What would she do with all of that?

“Are you okay, Miss?” Gus asked her, quietly.

“Yes, Gus, I’m fine.”

“What do you want us to do,  _Mademoiselle_? We can sell them for you, if you’d like. Valentine’s Day is a big day. Good profit.”

Gus pulled his sleeve. “Jaq, we don’t have the van.”

“Gus, what the hell? If  _Mademoiselle_  Belle wants us to sell them, we sell them!”

“No, it’s fine, Jaq,” Belle said, trying to calm him down. “I’ll think of something. You two can go. There won’t be any cleaning done today.”

“We can make arrangements,  _Mademoiselle_.”

“Jaq-”

“That  _would_  make them easier to store,” Gus conceded.

Belle thought of asking them to just leave and forget the whole thing. But instead, she sighed, “Fine. Yes. If it makes you boys feel better.”

“ _Oui_ ,  _Mademoiselle_. We never let  _Monsieur_  Moe down. We won’t let his daughter down as well.  _N_ _'est-ce_ _pa_ _s_ , Gus?”

“ _Oui_ -I mean, yup.”

She smiled. They were good kids. “Thanks, guys.”

Belle turned, planning on going back to the library, but then she thought better. “Actually, I think I’d like to make one myself.”

*

When the bell chimed, Mr. Gold looked up and frowned with curiosity, as well as a little amusement. “What is  _th_ _at_ for?”

“To lighten up the mood,” Belle smiled, practically skipping towards him. She stopped halfway to the counter. “Wait, are you allergic or something?”

“No.”

“Then here you go.” She placed the vase on top of the counter. Sunflowers and yellow roses in a crystal vase. She was a little rusty, but it was still, as far as she was concerned, an arrangement to be proud of.

“What’s the occasion?” he said, cautiously.

“The occasion is…” she thought about it. “You’re a good friend.”

“Uhn…” he stammered, staring at the yellow flowers, then at Belle, not really knowing how to react to either of them. “Why’s that?”

“You got me a job.”

“I got you an interview.”

“And now I have a job. Thank you.” She pushed the vase a little closer to him, offering them a second time.

He still didn’t look comfortable with her gift. But he didn’t seem to hate it, so Belle assumed Mr. Gold was just not used to people walking into his shop with presents and, most of all, gratitude.

“You’re welcome?” he tried. “And, uhn, thank you for the flowers they’re… huge.”

“You’re welcome. If you’d like, I can make about twenty more of these.”

Now he was suspicious. “Something tells me you got Maurice’s Valentine’s Day Flower Order.”

“You knew about this?”

“Yes, that’s why he said he’d have my money by the end of the month. Didn’t the lads who work for him tell you anything?”

“No,” Belle said, her shoulders slumped. “They just assumed they could send it back. Now they want to sell it.”

“Well, that is one option. Valentine’s Day is tomorrow, you’ll probably make a lot of money, being the only flower shop in town.”

“I don’t have the time, the talent, nor the van. Besides, I have a library to prepare before the 1st of March, or else the Mayor is going to eat my liver.”

Mr. Gold hissed. “She gave you two weeks? That’s rough.”

“Yes. You might have set yourself up for the biggest ‘I told you so’ of your life. At least that’s what she’s counting on.”

“Then you” he pointed a finger at her, “should stop making bouquets and start cataloging books, young lady.”

“Ha!” Belle said, leaning in. “And  _you_  should be fixing your clock.”

“Guilty as charged,” he replied, giving her a smile. “What a couple of procrastinators.”

“Indeed.” She eyed the sunflowers. “You know, you’re actually quite lucky.”

“How so?”

“If you’d like a bouquet for your wife, you have first dibs on the roses.”

“Do I?”

“You’re a personal friend of the owner. You’ve got first dibs,  _and_  you get the other crystal vase, if you so wish. I can ask Jaq to make you a nice bouquet.”

“I’m afraid my wife is not exactly a flower person. Unless they’re accompanied by something golden.”

“Well, if you change your mind, you let me know. You can have the biggest bouquet the boys can come up with. On the house. And I’ll deliver them myself, if you’d like.”

He raised a hand. “Good lord, stop. Pretty soon you’ll throw in a box of chocolates and a poem.”

“Hey, whatever pleases the-”

Belle stopped.

Her eyes grew to the size of saucers.

“Ms. French?”

“You’re a genius.”

Mr. Gold stared at her. If Belle had been paying attention, she’d have noticed his face turn red at the sudden compliment, but her mind had found something to focus on and nothing else mattered anymore.

“I… why?” he asked.

She said, “I gotta go!”

“What? Why?”

“That’s brilliant!” she said, completely ignoring the baffled look on his face. “That is  _pure_  brilliance!”

“But what did I-”

The door slammed behind her, leaving Rumple alone, and very confused.

“Brilliance,” he mumbled to himself, still feeling his face a little hot. “Who says  _brilliance_?”

Then again, she was a clever girl.

A clever girl who made nice flower arrangements.

Rumple looked at the sunflowers and the yellow roses. He picked a petal to fumble with. Maybe a bouquet wasn’t such a bad idea.


	3. Chapter 3

“So what you’re aiming at here is a publicity stunt,” Ruby concluded.

“Yes,” Belle said with a short nod. “In essence, that is it.”

“Uh-hun,” Ruby nodded, thinking it over. “I see your point…”

“But?”

“But it  _is_  terribly ambitious of you. I mean, you want to be done by tomorrow night-”

“By tonight,” Belle corrected her.

“By  _tonight_?”

“Yes.”

“ _By hand_?”

“We have all these cards and nothing to do with them. Besides, it gives a personal touch.”

“But still,  _by hand_?”

“This way everything is ready for tomorrow morning. We can distribute them in the park, or give them away during breakfast and lunch at Granny’s. By night, everything will be done and neither you nor the boys will miss on Valentine’s Day.”

Ruby didn’t seem convinced.

Jaq, however, already looked excited. “I think  _Mademoiselle_  Belle’s idea is great.”

“See? Jaq thinks the idea is great. And Gus…”

“Gus agrees with me,  _n’est-_ _ce_ _pas_?”

The other boy looked at his friend, then at Ruby. “Well, it’s hard, but like, the idea is good.”

Ruby sighed, defeated. “So, while they make bouquets, you and I will fill the cards with love poems.”

“Courtesy of the Storybrooke Library, reopening March 1st. Volunteers needed.”

“Right.”

“And!” Belle added, noticing that her arguments were not winning her friend over. Ruby had been very supportive of everything Belle had asked, including offering to help her move to the clock tower as soon as she got the job. But spending a few hours scribbling down love poems when she could very well be chasing a date for Valentine’s Day, that might have been a bit too much. “You get to offer any flowers of your choice with any poem of your choice to any man of your choice.”

Ruby smirked. “Why does it feel like I’m part of the publicity stunt?”

“Do men like flowers?” Gus asked.

“No, but they like me,” Ruby answered, giving him a wolf-like grin.

Gus blushed and looked away.

Ruby laughed and clapped her hands together. “Alright. With all these perks, how can one say no?”

*

Ruby had to resort to Google, but Belle knew quite a few poems by heart and wrote them down quickly in her nicest calligraphy.

“How about this?” Ruby told her, passing her a card with a puppy on the cover. Inside, her long and flourished handwriting read:

 

How Do I Love Thee?

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and broadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of being and ideal grace.

I love thee to the level of every day’s

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for right.

I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.

_Elizabeth Barrett Browning_

 

At the bottom, just as Belle had instructed, was the opening date for the library – or, as Ruby had written, the “Grand Reopening” date, which was overselling but Belle shouldn’t complain. In her handwriting, she could almost take it seriously.

“I should let you do all the work,” Belle said. “Your writing looks much better than mine.”

“The irony of it. This one is kinda cheesy, but who doesn’t like a good, old fashioned love sonnet?”

Belle looked as if Ruby had offended her deeply. “It’s not cheesy, it’s beautiful!”

“Lit geek,” Ruby teased. Then she shouted, “Hey!” when she saw Gus try to take flowers from a vase she had been keeping by her side. “Nobody touches the white roses! They’re mine. I’m taking them to The Rabbit Hole. I’m going to make you some clientele.”

“Girls night?”

“You  _are_  coming.” Wasn’t a question.

“I’ll go anywhere I can escape Gaston the easiest.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Gus and Jaq worked quickly putting small bouquets together. Maurice had taught them well, Belle could see. Wouldn’t be hard to give them away. If her math was correct, there would be more flowers than cards, but she didn’t think it would hinder the publicity all that much. Everybody knows each other in small towns, if someone knew Moe’s daughter was taking over the library and giving free flowers, then the news would spread quickly. Who knew? Maybe she  _would_  get volunteers and stop abusing poor Ruby’s goodwill.

By the time the cards were over, Belle couldn’t feel her fingers anymore and her handwriting wasn’t as beautiful as it had been when the day started. But she couldn’t deny seeing the cards neatly piled was very satisfying.

Belle’s math was not off (which was a surprise on its own), there were a lot more flowers than cards, even after the boys turned them into bouquets. Ruby divided everything into four baskets and assigned the boys to the park and the docks, instructing them to look for, one, any guy looking vaguely terrified, two, any woman looking vaguely depressed. Then, she put herself and Belle in charge of Granny’s and, later on, the pubs.

“I feel like I should walk the main street,” Belle said. “Or stand in front of the clock tower. Might help get the point across.”

Ruby looked at her through narrow eyes.

Belle said, “I solemnly swear I won’t bail on you for girls’ night.”

“As soon as the flowers run out?”

“And not a moment later.”

*

Storybrooke, it seemed, was filled with forgetful boyfriends looking for a last minute gift. After walking between tables during Breakfast, offering red roses to the patrons, the word seemed to get around and, by lunchtime, people would walk in already asking, “Please tell me this is where I can get free flowers!” To what Ruby would smile and answer, “And a free poem. Here you go. Curtesy of the Storybrooke Library. Don’t forget to volunteer.”

Dr. Whale alone asked for a dozen and was overjoyed when Belle not only complied, but also gave him a polite smile, instead of the typical “Ugh, how many brainless girls did you fool this year, Whale?” her father would usually meet him with.

“To be fair,” he told her, “Moe was probably right.  _One_  girlfriend is probably a lot less work.”

“Just don’t invite them all for the grand reopening,” Ruby told him.

He nodded. “Good thinking.”

“You could serve the flowers with the meals, if you’d like,” Belle suggested, once he left. “Might make it easier for you.”

“And steal your credit?” Granny said, revising the long list of orders they had for lunch. “You already doubled the clientele.”

“Granny is right,” Ruby said. “My wrist is killing me and I think I know every line to every sonnet ever written in history-”

Granny chuckled. “Wouldn’t that be something.”

“But I have to hand it to you,” Ruby continued, ignoring her grandmother. “This was a stroke of genius.”

“It was actually Mr. Gold’s idea.”

“Oh?”

“Well. More or less. He, uhn, inadvertently helped.” Belle got up. “I’ll be at the clock tower if you need me.”

“And don’t forget-”

“The Rabbit Hole at eight, yes, I won’t forget.”

Belle decided walking up and down the street might be more efficient than standing in front of the library door and hoping people would notice her. Even though her feet were soon throbbing and the basket was so heavy it was making her arms sore, she couldn’t stand still. Her flowers were disappearing quickly and people would often stop and read the card poems in the cards before continuing their way. Some even stopped to chat about the library, and how glad they were to see know it would soon reopen. Very few bothered to ask how they could help and what would they have to do if they decided to volunteer, but Belle still took that as a good sign.

Even the Mayor came to see what the fuss was about.

“I don’t need a special license to give away flowers, do I?” Belle teased her.

Regina gave her a grin that wasn’t exactly warm, but was far from the coldness she had armed herself with the day before. “You are dedicated, I give you that. I just hope you’ll also do some actual cleaning.”

Belle picked a red tulip. “Here you go.”

Regina eyed her, then the flower, then her again. “What is this?”

“A tulip, Madam Mayor.”

“I know when the reopening is happening. Or at least, when it’s supposed to happen.”

“For your special someone,” Belle insisted.

Regina looked like she wanted to reply with something acid, but held her tongue and walked away.

“Don’t get personal with the Mayor. She doesn’t appreciate it.”

Belle turned to find Mr. Gold limping her way.

She gave him a large smile. “Thank you for the tip.”

“Was this my brilliant idea?”

“Why, yes it was.”

“You’re right, I am a genius.”

Belle laughed.

“Really,” he insisted. “You say you don’t have a mind for business, but this was a great move on your part. Even the Mayor has to admit it. I haven’t seen one person in this town without a flower or a card, and that is saying something.”

“You can have fifty per cent of everything I make.”

“Aren’t you giving them away?”

“I’ll give you credit, then.”

“I’ll settle for those roses you offered me. That is, if they are still available.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“Nothing in particular. I just think a golden bracelet goes well with red roses.”

“Lucky woman, your wife.” Belle checked the flowers in her basket. “Red roses, red roses… sorry. I can call Ruby, though. Maybe she still has some. Or you could have my red tulip.”

Mr. Gold shrugged. “It’s fine. She wouldn’t care for them either way. Happy Valentine’s Day, Ms. French.”

Belle watched him walk away feeling unnecessarily guilty. She should have saved him those roses. After years of helping her father out in the flower shop, she should have known he’d come around. Husbands always did.

By the time the flowers were gone, Belle couldn’t feel her feet anymore, but the empty basket filled her with a sense of pride. If the boys and Ruby had done as well as she had, everyone would know of the reopening of the library. Any other day, it would have made her feel pressured, but tonight it only filled her with pride. For the first time ever since she had gotten back in town, she felt like she knew what she was doing.

Starting up the street, she took her cellphone off her pocket and called Ruby.

Ruby answered, “Hey, Ashley.”

“No, not, Ashley-”

“Have you seen Belle? I’ve got someone here who’d  _love_  to see her.”

Belle stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “Don’t tell me.”

“I don’t know where she is either, but she must be getting here at any minute. Wait.” Ruby’s voice came muffled through the phone. “Could you wait a while? I’m sure she’ll be right back.” Then, she continued, “Gaston doesn’t mind waiting. If you see her, tell her I’ll be at the Pixie Dust. Once they are done talking, of course.”

Belle could almost see the big smile Ruby was giving Gaston. Full of teeth and hostility.

“Aren’t we going to The Rabbit Hole?”

“Yes, at eight,” Ruby replied, in a very suggestive voice. “And don’t forget to tell her.”

“Right. See you there. Oh!” She said, remembering why she was calling in the first place. “Sorry, almost forgot. Do you still have any red roses?”

Ruby laughed. “You  _are_  kidding.”

“Thought so. I’ll check with the boys.”

“Why?”

“Last delivery. To Mr. Gold.”

Ruby said nothing.

“To his  _wife_.”

“Oh! Right.”

“I’ll just deliver them and meet you at The Rabbit Hole. Can you bring my dress?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks, Ruby.”

“No problem, Ashley.”


	4. Chapter 4

Gus had a few left overs in his basket. It wasn’t a dozen roses, but it was still beautiful. Twenty pink tulips in crystal vase. The very last crystal vase of his father’s shop, just as she had promised.

Since the cards were all gone, Belle bought one out of her own pocket and struggled with the poem for a while, not sure what Mrs. Gold was fond of. She remembered Mr. Gold usually checked out biographies for her, and she didn’t strike her as the romantic type. If anything, she seemed very practical and no-non-sense. Her father used to say that most husbands who claimed their wives didn’t care for flowers would easily be proved wrong with the right bouquet, Mr. Gold’s assessment of his wife’s tastes was probably spot on.

Still, he was going out of his way to make her feel welcome. Wouldn’t kill her to deliver a nice bouquet with a poem to her hands. Maybe it would buy him some extra points.

As her mother used to say, when you don’t know what to do, go back to basics: Shakespeare. No one  _hated_  Shakespeare.

She thought for a few minutes and then wrote down a full sonnet in the nicest calligraphy her tired hand could gather.

 

Sonnet 130

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;

Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;

If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;

If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.

I have seen roses damasked, red and white,

But no such roses see I in her cheeks;

And in some perfumes is there more delight

Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know

That music hath a far more pleasing sound;

I grant I never saw a goddess go;

My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.

And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare

As any she belied with false compare.

 

Belle nodded to herself, satisfied. Milah Gold would, at the very least, approve of it.

It was way past seven when Belle got to the Golds’ large, pink house. She hadn’t been there since she was sixteen and Bae had offered her a ride in his father’s Cadillac. She avoided the place both because her father despised the Golds and because she didn’t want to face Mrs. Gold alone – although now, as a grown woman looking back at her youth, she couldn’t remember why. Probably some foolish, childish reason, such as reprimanding her once when she was ten, or denying her an extra cookie.

Father used to say the Golds thought they were better than everyone else because they were lucky enough to inherit a lot of properties. However, Belle couldn’t believe that was true. Mr. Gold had always treated her with kindness, specially now, and his wife… well, she usually rubbed people the wrong way, but she couldn’t imagine her – Baelfire’s mother – to be any less kind, once you got to know her.

She hopped up the front steps, already imagining how pleased Mrs. Gold would be with her flowers, and how happy Mr. Gold would be with her small favor. She raised her hand to knock on the door.

And that was when a crashing sound inside the house froze her on the spot.

“ _Of course you knew! You always know! He tells you everything!_ ”

Belle lowered her hand.

Her bones seemed to shake when she heard something else crash inside the house.

There was a timid mumble that she recognized as Mr. Gold’s voice, but she couldn’t make out the words.

“ _I don’t care!_ ”

More mumbling.

Desperate and pleading.

“ _Have dinner if you want, I’ve lost my appetite!_ ”

Heavy, thundering steps.

Belle didn’t realize they were coming towards her until Milah Gold pulled the door open and saw her standing on her front porch with a bouquet of pink tulips in her hands.

Mrs. Gold focused her angry eyes on her. “And what would you want?”

Her voice was even, didn’t resemble the hysterical screaming she had heard not one second ago in the least . And yet, each word was filled with disdain.

Belle blinked and tried to speak, but only managed to stammer half syllables. Maybe her foolish childhood fears were not as unfounded.

Milah Gold, a good ten inches taller than her, was looking down on Belle, in every sense of the word. The very little Belle remembered of her few interactions with that woman was that she was very beautiful, and that was still true; in fact, had she not known Baelfire’s age, she’d have guessed her to be a good ten years younger than her husband, though they were probably the same age. She was also always impeccably dressed and poised on name brand high heels. Belle had done her best to look good for her great publicity stunt, but next to her she felt like a frumpy teenager once again.

But the way she was looking at her… Belle had forgotten the power her eyes had. Her expression wasn’t even that angry, and yet, Belle knew Mrs. Gold could very well snap her in half if she so wished.

Unable to sustain that look any further, she eyed Mr. Gold, standing right behind his wife, his hands shaking on top of his cane. His own eyes were wide and full of panic.

“Ms. French,” he said, his throat dry. “Good evening.”

“Moe’s daughter?” Mrs. Gold said, turning back briefly to look at her husband for confirmation. “The one who just moved back into town?” Her tone made it very clear Belle was not a particularly pleasant memory. Her husband nodded. She aimed her glare back on her face. “And what would you want with us, my dear?”

“I’m sorry, Ms. French, this isn’t a good-”

“Yes,” Milah cut in, speaking slowly, her voice dripping venom. “In fact, it’s a _terrible_  time for visits.”

“Yes, uhn, I’m sorry,” Belle managed to say. “Good evening. I just dropped by to- these are for you,” she offered her the bouquet. Tried to smile. “Special Valentine’s Day delivery. As requested by your husband.”

Belle felt a little spark of hope ignite in her chest. Maybe that would put an end to their fight. Behind his wife, Mr. Gold went so still she wondered if he was even breathing.

Milah didn’t take the flowers. Didn’t even look at them.

“My husband knows better than to give me flowers,” she said, icy. “And when he does, he’s smart enough to avoid tacky bouquets.”

“Milah,” Mr. Gold cut in, his face turning red, “she’s only trying to be nice.”

Milah eyed the pink tulips. “She didn’t try very hard.”

Belle’s hands recoiled.

His expression was pained. “She doesn’t mean that, Ms. French. It’s a lovely bouquet.”

“Yes,” Milah said, disdainful. “ _Pink_. Lovely. Excuse me.” She advanced towards her and Belle stepped to the side. Had she remained where she was, Mrs. Gold would probably have stepped over her on her way out.

Very quickly, Milah Gold entered her car and drove away.

Belle didn’t move until the sound of her engine died in the distance.

When she turned, Mr. Gold had his eyes on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he said, quietly.

“No, I-I should have made an effort,” Belle said, clutching the flowers. On second look, they didn’t seem so perfectly put together.

“You did, it’s lovely,” he insisted. He finally walked to the door. “It’s perfect, Ms. French. Thank you. It was very thoughtful of you.”

He tried to take it, but Belle took a step back. “No, I shouldn’t have imposed like this. You said she didn’t like flowers.”

“No, she-she will come around.” He took the vase from her hands. “I’m sorry. Milah’s just having a difficult night. She’ll warm up to them tomorrow.”

Belle tried to look everywhere but in his eyes. No matter what he said, she knew she had been in the wrong. Milah was his wife, he knew better than anyone what she liked and didn’t. And yet, she had invaded their privacy to try to make herself feel better for abusing his friendship and, in return, had only made everything worse.

“Belle, I  _am_  sorry, truly. This wasn’t your fault.”

She glanced up, and then tried to focus on anything other than the hurt expression on his face. The coat hanger in the back of the corridor. The golden bracelet on a velvet case, untouched on top of the dinner table. Broken plates on the floor. Leafs of paper, ripped and wrinkled and scattered between the wasted food.

He stepped to the right to block her vision and she glanced down again.

She talked first. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes.”

“If it’s not-” she started, but cut herself short. What could she do?

Belle had the sudden urge to pull him out of the house and into Ruby’s car. She could drive him to Granny’s and he could stay there overnight. Just until his wife calmed down and was ready to apologize.

But immediately after they crossed her mind, Belle realized just how silly her thoughts were. What was she afraid of? He was a grown man. He had been married for thirty years. She was a stranger who had invaded on a private moment and was now drawing conclusions.

“Do you need anything?” she offered.

“I need to put these down,” he said, indicating the flowers, “and then I need to call Milah. She’ll be fine once she calms down. It was a, it’s a silly fight.”

He tried to smile.

She couldn’t smile back.

“I’ll go…” he said.

Belle recovered her senses. “Yes. I’m sorry. I’ll go-I’m-” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts. “Good night, Mr. Gold.”

Before he could answer, she turned around and walked away.

After a moment, she heard the front door closing.

**Author's Note:**

> A list of all one-shots in verse chronological order can be found here: http://annievh.tumblr.com/post/102166515522/behind-closed-doors-warnings-domestic-abuse


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